Friday, December 30, 2011

British actor and comedian Russell Brand filed for divorce from pop singer Katy Perry, his wife of just over a year, citing irreconcilable differences.

"Never had one FORRRRMAL LEEESSSON!"

I don't mean to sound flip, but--

Brand is a self-confessed, recovering sex addict and Perry has the dubious distinction of being called Katy "Cocktease" by critics who find it hard to reconcile her oversexed public persona with her staunch Christian upbringing. On paper, it's hardly a match made in, er, heaven...

So are we to assume that he wanted it all the time and she wasn't in the business of giving it up? Who knows? One this is for sure, it's a great excuse to bust out a few sexed up pictures of her.

Am I doing it again?

You can't fault Russell Brand for trying, however, as preacher's daughter's worldwide have a reputation for being ripe fruit, bursting with wild, sexual abandon. So, it might come as a surprise to you that Russell was the person that filed, not Katy.

Some people are even saying she was blindsided by the decision.

Wait, really?! But I have -- these!

Still, no marriage -- no relationship -- can be sustained under the white hot lights of the entertainment industry. Non issues can become staggering problems overnight.

Don't make me choose between you and guy-liner.

Both people work often and far away from each other. Anyone that has worked in hollywood knows that a different set of rules apply when it comes to relationships. And those rules have precious little to do with accountability.

Don't be sad. They'll remains friends. I know that's true because I read it in a press release.

Thursday, December 29, 2011

It's a little bit unsettling to think that procedural shows like CSI have made murder convictions harder to secure by prosecutors. Well, they say it's happening and it's a phenomenon known as the CSI FACTOR.

In short, people watch CSI (and its spin offs) and rather than giving them a weekly primer on forensic science, it instead gives them an unrealistic expectation of what kind of evidence can actually be produced by law enforcement.

I'm gonna need some comparative bullet-lead analysis, thanks.

The latest and most high profile examples of this phenomenon is the Casey Anthony trial. Her body was dumped and hidden in a wooded area and duct tape was found around the mouth of the remains. I say "remains" because the body laid undetected for six months and by the time police uncovered the remains, there was nothing left but "dry bones."

Caylee Anthony's "dry bones."

The Medical Examiner in the case, was Dr. G, known nationally for her forensic work and her syndicated TV show on cable. She determined the cause of death was homicide, but could not rule on the actual cause of death. Common sense tells us that a body of a child, dumped and hidden in the woods with duct tape near the mouth of the remains is probably the result of foul play.

The jury, who would later find Anthony not guilty, expected a wider range of forensic evidence than was possible with "dry bones" or the circumstances in which the body was found. Dumped, hidden, duct taped. Even the lack of a 911 call from Casey Anthony to tell officials her daughter was missing says much more than the forensic evidence ever could. Still, it was not enough and the state failed to make its case.

Thanks CSI Miami!

A quick search of the internet and you will find countless examples of the CSI FACTOR. Is it real? Is it bullshit? Law professors cannot say for certain one way or the other. I wonder if the show House, M.D. creates an unrealistic expectation of Diagnosticians?

In 1835, the Treaty of New Echota was signed by officials of the United States government and a small minority party of Cherokees called The Treaty Party. It effectively signed away all land south east of the Mississippi and was the legal basis for the forcible removal of indians by the U.S. government.

The irony of this -- the principle leader of the Cherokee Nation, John Ross, neither signed, nor agreed to this treaty and the infamous Trail of Tears was born.

The exact moment Victoria Jackson stopped being funny is up for debate, but I think she was crazy all along -- only we didn't start to see it until she had nothing left to lose.

Honestly, I don't really remember her being funny on SNL. I do remember her annoying voice -- and specifically -- that I thought it was an affected voice used to make her sound stupid. It turns out, that voice is her own and the stupid part, well, that was completely unrelated.

She was raised by devout Christians. The kind that don't have televisions in their house. That, in and of itself, is not a crime, but when you add the fact that she was taught gymnastics by her father from the age of 5 to 18 -- yes, her father -- you get the sense that she has a narrow worldview. She went to bible schools and Christian colleges and studied theatre before moving to Los Angeles to seek her fortune.

Jackson on Johnny Carson

Her big breakthrough was on the Tonight's Show with Johnny Carson. She performed what had become her signature act. She did a hand stand while reciting poetry. Ground breaking, I know.

I can't imagine this signature act is what got her onto SNL, but considering how often they dragged the handstand poetry bit out during Weekend Update, they had to think it was worth something. I don't want to undermine her success on SNL, but she was hired for the 12th season in 1986 after Lorne Michaels famously fired most, if not all, of the on air talent and writing staff from season 11. Let's just say, there was a void that needed to be filled.

Despite her six year run on the show, I defy anyone to tell me a single character she created that made one tiny bit of impact to popular culture. Sure, she played supporting parts in other people's creations, but she is not known for anything memorable on the show except for being kooky and having the most annoying voice in SNL history. It seems a crime that she was surrounded by some of the most creative, talented comedians of the 20th century and none of their talent seemed to rub off. I dare say, some of her kookiness rubbed off on Dennis Miller as he, too, has become a kooky right-winger, talking on Fox News with the same five people that agree with him.

After her departure from SNL, Victoria did her best to re-invent herself as a Ukelele folk singer, but it never really caught on and she fell deeper into obscurity. Then somewhere after 9/11, she re-emerged as an angry, islamophobic right-wing nutjob. Of course, she may have been this nutty all along, but her lack of relevance and non-existent career made it easy for her to speak up. She simply had nothing left to lose. In fact, in the years since 9/11, the crazier and nuttier she presents herself, the more attention and press she gets. I'm not sure anyone with half a brain actually listens to what she says, but she gets the attention.

Recently, she joined the staff of Patriot Update, an ultra conservative website that panders to the most extreme elements in the Republican party. She can now be seen spouting ant-gay, anti-muslim clap trap in that same, annoying voice we couldn't take seriously back in 1986. Now, we're expected to believe her when she says Sharia Law has been instituted throughout the country and that the Muslim Brotherhood has infiltrated the highest levels of our government -- including the White House.

The irony, of course, is that if this was a character she was portraying on SNL, it would be a stroke of genius. It would be truly inspired. The fact that she is for real, while unintentionally hilarious, is downright scary.

Maybe if she said it while doing a handstand it might make more sense.

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Andrej Pejic is a successful male model from Yugoslavia that fled the country with his mother when he was eight and moved to Australia as a refugee of the Bosnian war. He is known for his extreme androgyny and his ability to successfully model both men and women's clothing.

Gender bending aside, at first, I thought it was silly for him to model a push up bra, but then it occurred to me -- this guy has no tits and this mega push up bra gave him more than an adequate rack. Just think what it can do for women!

By and large, the fashion world has embraced his unique look. He's worked often enough that you might have seen his modeling spreads without realizing that she was actually a he.

Shocked? Don't be too hard on yourself. After all, he sure is purdy!

It kind of reminded me of the ad campaign for American Beauty. It was a sexy closeup of a female belly button being caressed gently by delicate fingers. The caption simply read, "Look closer."

Look closer, at my tiny hands..

In the lead up to the release of this movie, people would drive by this billboard, not realizing the sexy torso belonged to an underaged cheerleader played by Mena Suvari. It made them feel slightly guilty for having ogled the supple flesh in a more lascivious context. In any case, the campaign was a successful one.

So, you live in Boston and you've been looking endlessly for a bawdy, burlesque version of the Nutcracker, well -- your search is over. The Slutcracker -- currently at the Somerville Theater -- is for you.
The Slutcracker website describes the show as "the sexy-freaky holiday zeitgeist spectacular that will make you squeal--and it just might get you laid."

"The perfect legacy for Tchaikovsky!" The Boston Herald

"I laughed, I cried, I came in my pants. It was better than cats." - Amanda Palmer

"This is some next level shit!" -- Boston Phoenix

The show is the brainchild of Babes in Boinkland troupe director Vanessa White and incorporates, burlesque, tango dancers, pole-dancing, yes pole-dancing, drag kings, hoopers, acrobats, belly dancers and ballerinas in a re-imagined version of Tchaikovsky's The Nutcracker.

Ironically, this version of the tale follows the original themes more closely -- that of a young girl having a sexual awakening during a holiday dream sequence.
Professional ballet dancers have known this for years. The children's classic is more adult in theme than you might imagine. In fact, if you knew the original story, you might not be in a hurry to take your kids to see it.

So, The Slutcracker is -- if nothing else -- truth in advertising. I, for one, wish I lived in Boston so I could go and see this sexed up Christmas spectacular. It closes on December 31st. Here's a couple video clips...

Thursday, December 22, 2011

Meet Lucinda Clare a.k.a Mother -- a Los Angeles based Psychic that has graciously let 100 hundred blank t-shirts pass under her hands so she could use her "extraordinary psychic powers" to predict the future of the wearer.

These 100 shirts are on sale at her website, here, for the, eh, modest sum of £100. That's pounds. British sterling. With the current exchange rate that works out to be around $157. All proceeds from the shirts are going to a charitable organization called Age UK which helps the aged and elderly in Great Britain.

I'm a sucker for a good marketing campaign and I guess it's for a good cause. Apparently, she only has 30 shirts left so she must know something we don't. So what kind of psychic message might we really expect?

"...but only after your check clears."

Sometimes we need a gimmick to feel giving and humanitarian. I guess this fits the bill.

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

On December 21st, 1978, police in Des Plaines, IL, arrested child killer and part-time party clown John W. Gacy Jr. and began the gruesome task of unearthing the remains of 33 men and boys that he was later convicted of killing.

What? Too much?

Arguably, one of the most chilling serial killers in American history, he was executed by lethal injection on May 10, 1994 at the age of 52.

Hi kids!

He performed at children's parties and charitable events under the name "Pogo the clown" and by the time he was done, had managed to squirrel away the bodies of at least 29 people on his property. Twenty-six bodies were found in the crawlspace under his house, one was buried under the concrete floor of the garage, another in a pit beneath his barbeque grill and a final body was found buried beneath the joists of his dining room floor.

The crawlspace

Of course, there were others, but final count may never be known.

Comedian Ray Romano famously said -- about his modestly supportive childhood -- that he (Romano) was three hugs away from being an accountant.

Gacy, not so much.

Though incarcerated for fourteen years before his execution, Gacy was said to be a model prisoner. He spent most of his time studying law books and filing countless appeals and motions on his own behalf. When he wasn't doing that, he painted clown portraits and sold them to people on the outside.
Some have sold at auction for up to $20,000.

Right up to his death, he minimized his involvement in all but five of the murders and showed no remorse for his crimes. His last words -- uttered in the moments before his execution -- were "kiss my ass..."

Jonah Lee Troutman -- a homeless man in Tampa, Florida -- recently used a stolen credit card to buy himself a pedicure. Not food. Not drugs. Not booze. Not cigarettes. A pedicure.
He said he found the credit card lying on the ground and that it was "a gift from god." Unfortunately, when he tried to pay for said pedicure, god bitch slapped him. The card, it turns out, was declined.

He was subsequently arrested and charged with illegal use of a credit card and petty theft.

The Discovery Channel's hit show Gold Rush: Alaska has become must see television on Friday nights, but the biggest nugget I've managed to glean from the show this season is that these people are a bunch of idiots.

Every week, something goes wrong. Horribly wrong. I'm not even talking about the kind of "scripted wrong" that is manufactured for these kinds of shows to build drama. The Hoffmans are in way over their head and even when they aren't, they can't seem to get out of their own way long enough to make up any real ground.

I get that the idea of having complete noobs go up to Alaska to mine for gold is part of the high concept of the show, but it's been one embarrassing turn after another.
Still, the show has a "love to hate them" kind of feel that keeps me tuning in when I know I should have switched off a long time ago.

Is it leader Todd Hoffman's disgusting beard that is big enough to nest a family of birds?

There's gold in them thar beard!

Is it Jack Hoffman, the old man with a dream that has the most annoying voice of anyone I have ever come across -- and uses jargon reserved for people 60 years his junior?

It's a drop dead killer claim.

Maybe it's James Harness, the crackerjack mechanic that numbs his chronic back pain with heavy duty narcotics.

I can fix heavy machinery on morphine.

Arguably, the villain of the show is Dakota Fred, a gum chewing blow hard that would be completely dull if not for the fact that he has one leg that's shorter than the other which forces him to wear four inches of rubber sole to one of his boots so he doesn't walk around in circles.

They call me big boot.

My best hopes went to the 17 year old whipper-snapper, Parker Schnabel that has been trying to run his 92 year old grandfather's Big Nugget Mine, but even he has been striking out.

My grandpa thinks I'm forty.

All in all, the show offers up the promise of gold nuggets, but all I can see are a handful of flakes.